Post-Mortem on Peace

Secondary outcome of peace in the North last week was a journey undertaken by Adolf Hitler down to Brennero, Italy to talk more peace and more war with his ambiguous Fascist partner. For Germany the Russian victory looked fine. Her Swedish iron ore was safe. Her northern flank was shielded. Her prestige was generally conceded upped. Russia was now free. The Allies and their unfulfilled promises were fair bait for sarcasm.

But the first reaction to the war's end was otherwise. Like torrents freed by the sudden thawing of some great northern river, the peace let loose a worldwide flood of emotions -- sorrow, anger, fear, pride, guilt, frustration, shock, hatred. On the one side, tearful Finns quoted an old Nordic saying: "Sorrows are our reins, bad days our bridle." On the other, the Russians laughed, drank beer, slapped each other's backs, praised their Red Army "defenders." But among the friends and foes of each side there was a bitter search for reasons, a hunt for scapegoats, a vindictive beating back & forth of the shuttlecock of blame.

Great Britain. In a terse two-minute speech in the House of Commons, Neville Chamberlain dryly repeated that somehow, some way Britain would have sent men had Finland asked for them. Up jumped Leslie Hore-Belisha. The Finns, he said, had repeatedly asked for both materials and men. It was shameful "to plead as an excuse a pure technicality." Prime Minister Chamberlain politely corrected his former War Secretary. Materials they had asked for, but not men.

But Mr. Hore-Belisha was not satisfied. Had the Allies qualified their offer in such a way as to make the Finns think the assistance would be too feeble? This the Prime Minister declined to answer.

After the squabble had been going on for some time, in walked another great emotionalist, David Lloyd George. On his feet to talk about food problems, the veteran (who repeatedly warned Britain to stay out of Finland rather than join war with Russia) mournfully declared: "It is the old trouble--too late. Too late with Czecho-Slovakia, too late with Poland, certainly too late with Finland. It is always too late or too little or both, and that is the road to disaster."

Prime Minister Chamberlain agreed to air the whole progress of the war this week. Not a few commentators began predicting a thorough Cabinet shakeup.

France. Premier Daladier announced that 50,000 Allied troops had been standing by ready to go to Finland's aid--an announcement too late to be of any military use and obviously intended merely as a talking point for the Finnish peace commissioners, then in Moscow. It also did its bit to shift the onus for Allied delay on to Scandinavia. "Our help in men," he said, "depends on Finland's appeal. . . . Why have we not received this appeal? It is because the Governments of Norway and Sweden have taken the position that they will oppose the passage of Allied troops across their territory."

Onetime Premier Pierre Laval (who was willing in other days to emasculate Ethiopia for the sake of a deal) led a movement in the Senate for secret debate on the abandonment of little Finland and on the whole war effort. Premier Edouard Daladier acquiesced. After two days behind closed doors, the Senate upheld the Government without one adverse vote, but with 60 of 300 Senators present abstaining.

In a sudden let-up on censorship, daily papers were permitted to print hints of a ministerial purge, with possible formation of a small super-Cabinet for instantaneous major decisions. There was some halfhearted criticism of Sweden for blocking aid to Finland, but plenty of self-recrimination.

Italy, partner of Germany in the Axis, of the Allies in sympathy for Finland, of no one in a pinch, took the paradoxical line of criticizing Britain and France for again failing small nations.

Popolo di Roma scornfully wrote: "Now it only remains for the Western Powers to heap vituperation on the neutral Scandinavian powers which know enough about the capacity for aid of France and Great Britain."

The Balkans were both alarmed and pleased by the peace--alarmed at the fate of another small nation sponsored if not guaranteed by the Allies, pleased that the war was over. Yugoslavia said the lesson of Finland was that small nations must band together. Bulgaria (Russia's one Balkan friend) expressed satisfaction that Russia had insured her Baltic outlet and began talking about an Aegean outlet for herself. Hungary was grateful that Germany was trying to limit the scope of the war. Rumania was in a quandary. Altogether the Balkan States blamed the Allies and took a seven-league leap towards the German-Russian combine.

Russia turned herself inside out with triumph, but did some blaming, too. Official Pravda turned on the Allies with such phrases as: "Incendiaries of war . . . dense, malodorous Anti-Soviet slander . . . dubious tricks of the League of Nations . . . menaces of bribery ... international war provocateurs." To clear Russia of any charges of guilt, Pravda's editorial achieved masterpieces of non sequitur: "Inspired by patriotic enthusiasm, the fighters, commanders and political functionaries of the Red Army and the Red Navy showed there are no fortresses that the Bolsheviki cannot take. . . . The Soviet Union stands unshaken as a guardian of peace and as a buttress of hope for toilers."

Words of the great Lenin were dug up to bless the peace. Quoted Izvestia: "When the Soviet power makes peace proposals, it is necessary to regard them seriously." But no one in Russia dug up, nobody quoted, if anyone remembered he tried to forget the words Lenin wrote in 1901, when Tsar Nicholas II bore down on the Grand Duchy of Finland because it was a "threat" to St. Petersburg (now Leningrad).

"This is an act of violence," wrote the man who was last week hailed as Prophet, "by a perjured Tsar and his Government of bashi-bazouks. A mere 2,500,000 Finns cannot naturally dream of a successful revolt, but we, all of us Russian citizens, must think of the dishonor that burdens us. We are still such slaves ourselves that we can be employed to reduce other nations to slavery. We still submit to a Government that crushes us with the cruelty of the hangman and that uses Russian soldiers to destroy the liberty of others."

Scandinavia. When the first peace rumors ran from house to house in Stockholm, Swedish families and societies planned festivities. The Swedish Government was delighted to escape from its squeeze between the upper millstone of threatened Allied intervention and the nether--threat of German reprisal for permitting it. Norway and Denmark were likewise relieved. The Copenhagen Politiken, splashing the first news on yellow handbills which were joyfully snatched by gasping passersby, commented: "Happiness will be felt all over the North that the final outcome of suspense was a message of peace."

Then came the terms, and despair. The parties were canceled, the laughter ceased. A horrible realization fell like a blanket of wet snow on the three countries: not only was Finland defeated; her neighbors were threatened within an inch of their lives.

The Swedish Government protested that it had been double-crossed. The terms it had forwarded as intermediary had been changed, dreadfully. Sly Viacheslav Molotov had said nothing about that Kandalaksha-Kemijaervi railway, which would be not only a steel chastity-belt clamped across Finland's waist but also a weapon to jimmy Sweden's door.

Then it was revealed just how far Germany had been prepared to go. Editor Allan Vougt of the Malmoe Arbetet, who is generally considered the Swedish Foreign Office mouthpiece, confirmed the report that German troops had been concentrated at Gdynia and Danzig, ready for immediate transshipment to either Finland or Sweden. And troops were apparently ready to move across Denmark.

In their weakness the Scandinavian States began to grope for the strength of unity. In Helsinki Foreign Minister Vaeinoe A. Tanner announced that even while peace negotiations had been going on, Finland had broached to Sweden and Norway the subject of a mutual defense pact. Denmark had been left out because the country was obviously indefensible.

Sweden and Norway were interested. Sweden's Foreign Minister Christian E. Guenther spoke of "linked destinies," and the Conservative Speaker of Norway's Storting, Carl J. Hambro, hurried to Stockholm to discuss the pact. But facts were cruel and disruptive: Finland now lies in Russia's sphere, Sweden is geographically Germany's pawn, Norway's bare face is Britain's to slap. A mutual defense pact might therefore anger all three of the major powers. But since combined German-Russian wrath is much the greatest Scandinavian fear, the alliance would probably have to favor those two nations. Germans, taking this as a matter of course, tolerated talk of the pact.

This week Foreign Minister Guenther delivered Sweden's best defense against the charges made by Premier Daladier that Scandinavia had blocked Allied help. "I want to emphasize," said he, "that the idea of coming to the help of Finland had opened vistas to the Allied powers that particularly appealed to the French. The deadlock on the Western Front was not popular, and the newspapers in France spoke of the. hunt for new battlefields. Moreover, the removal of the war to Scandinavia would have given an opportunity to cut off the iron-ore exports to Germany. ... It suffices to point out that the Swedish Government was fully convinced that the appearance of Allied troops in Sweden must bring with it the transfer of the war to Sweden. The Swedish people would have been dragged into the war."

Finland. Not so surprisingly, the most sense-making and least rancorous explanation of the peace came from Finland, that nation that enjoys the Northern world's highest percentage of college graduates and where illiteracy is unknown. Said Foreign Minister Vaino Tanner to his people and the world:

"Finland was drawn into war through no fault of her own. Territorial demands were presented to her and she was prepared to satisfy these demands to a reasonable extent. This notwithstanding, the negotiations broke down.

"Finland trusted, however, in agreements concluded with her neighbor and in the desire for peace repeatedly proclaimed by this neighbor and did not believe war would break out. Nevertheless war did break out and the country was compelled to defend itself.

"Right from the beginning it was evident the struggle would be an unequal one. . . . We have continued to send out appeals for help to overcome this deficiency. Our neighbors, the Scandinavian States, for whom it would have been easiest for geographical reasons to send troops to our aid, have not regarded themselves as being in a position to do so.

"The Western Allies, after hesitating for some time in the beginning, have announced their willingness to send to this country a fully equipped expeditionary force if this country so requests. This promise has been frequently repeated during the past weeks. . . .

"Our military command has carefully studied this scheme for our assistance. Its details have been exhaustively discussed. It has been found to be effective in every respect. Yet it contains one weak point. How are these reinforcements to reach this country? The geographical situation of Finland places difficulties in the way. So long as the Baltic Sea is closed, that sea route is out of the question. The route to Petsamo is long and difficult, and it is, further, held by the enemy.

"The only possible route lies across the Scandinavian countries, through Norway and Sweden. The Governments of these two countries have been approached by the Finnish Government on several occasions with a request for permission for Allied auxiliary forces to pass through their territory. A similar request has been made by the Governments of the Allies. This permission, however, has been categorically refused on behalf of both countries concerned.

"We have shown the path which small nations must take in the face of demands by dictator States. It has not been our fault that the democratic States have either been unwilling or unable to help us in this unequal struggle.

"In spite of the severity of the terms the Government has regarded assent to them as being in the national interest. As we have no hope of securing better terms by continuing the war, it has been preferred to agree to the present terms rather than continue a hopeless war."

The World. British Poet Alfred Noyes, who in the early years of the century was considered one of the greatest articulators of his "decent, dauntless people," wrote an eight-line poem addressed to the world's innocent bystanders:

Far off between the mountains and the sea In ancient days this word was sped "Tell them at home we held Thermopylae According to their word and lie here dead." Now from the North there comes a mightier cry--"We fought and failed against titanic powers.

But ask mankind--whose is the victory When every unchained heart on earth is ours?"

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